


Were Kisses All The Joys In Bed

by mickeym



Category: Popslash
Genre: Bondage, Established Relationship, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Wax Play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-09-09
Updated: 2007-09-09
Packaged: 2018-07-10 15:08:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6990481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mickeym/pseuds/mickeym
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Sometimes, Chris needs more.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Were Kisses All The Joys In Bed

**Author's Note:**

> Two popslash stories in one day. It has to be a record. Anyway, this one's because Wendy posted some JC pictures in her journal...one of them being the infamous photo with him and the blindfold which spells out "Top". 
> 
> Phaballa and I exchanged a few comments wrt that picture, and 1900 words later...here we are. *facepalm* Also, Raynedanser? Maybe next time. Because I'm sure that Chris and JC could agree on _something_ to do with sharp,shiny things. :)
> 
> Enjoy!

Sometimes, a guy just plain wants to forget about his fucked up life. 

Sometimes, he wants sex to be less about sex, and more about connecting with someone. Someone who understands all the complexities in his head that make him want it to _hurt_ , in a way that actually relieves the pain.

Lucky for Chris, JC likes to be the guy who gives him all that.

Chris is happiest about it when JC has him tied to bed. He's spread-eagled right now, just enough give in the bonds so his arms and legs don't feel like they're being pulled from him, but tight enough that he can't wiggle too effectively.

"Look at you," JC says, voice low and soft. He strokes his fingertips over Chris's dick, up and down so lightly it's a fucking tease, not even a caress. Chris tries to move up into the touch, but doesn't get far. He bites back a low moan when JC rubs his thumb across the crown of his dick, smearing the fluid gathering there. The edge of JC's thumbnail catches on the tiny slit, pulling it roughly, and Chris hisses though his teeth before relaxing back, letting the throb wash over him. "Want it so bad, don't you. Need it." JC's voice is fond, and that washes over him and through him, too.

"Yeah," he manages, trying again to push up into the touches, the fleeting caresses. JC just laughs, and Chris shivers when the cockring's fastened on nice and tight. One more binding that actually releases him.

JC smoothes his hands down the insides of Chris's thighs then drags them back up, fingernails scraping gently. "Want me to fuck you, Chris? Or do you need something else?"

He closes his eyes briefly, hating JC for this part of it. Hating that he needs to do this in order to make it work.

 _Owning it_ , is what JC called it. Chris just calls it bullshit.

"Chris? Waiting here, cat."

He swallows over the lump in his throat, and licks his lips. "Something--else. More." As much as he loves what JC gives, does for him and to him, Chris _hates_ having to ask for it. Hates having to say it out loud.

JC slaps the inside of his thigh. "Ask nicely. You know the rules."

Yeah, because he helped write them. Dammit. "Please." 

Cool fingers slide over his balls, back behind them, and circle his hole. Chris flinches, because he said 'something else', not getting fucked, so--what the fuck? But he trusts JC, so he relaxes; sighs when JC's finger slides inside him. Sighs louder when another finger joins the first, twisting and stroking and rubbing over his prostate until Chris is pulling on his bonds, shaking with the heat sliding through him. Heat that increases when JC presses something thick and solid into him, opening him up.

"Thought it'd be nicer if you got fucked along with the something else," JC says quietly, voice warm and breathy against Chris's ear. "I like the way you look, Chris, stretched wide and open. Like you're waiting for me. Wanting me."

"Always," Chris says roughly, the word harsh in his throat. "JC--"

"Shh. I know what you need, Chris."

He kisses Chris's throat, then bites into it, sucking heat up to the surface. Chris twists against the sting and pants when JC does it again, and again, and again.

His throat throbs by the time JC moves down to his chest, pinching and pulling at Chris's nipples.

"Gotta try nipple clamps some time, Chris." He twists one and Chris cries out, the sound fading when JC soothes it with his tongue, licking gently before sucking it into a hard, tight point. "Just think, those alligator clips? Sharp teeth closing over tender flesh," JC bites down on his nipple and Chris groans, breathing in and out, willing the pain into something warm and soothing.

His other nipple gets the same treatment, JC sucking and biting until Chris's whole chest throbs in time with his heartbeat. 

By the time JC moves off the bed Chris is swimming in a warm, comforting haze of pleasure-pain. He turns his head to watch JC, rummaging in the bedside table while he strokes his dick. 

"Close your eyes," JC says when he sees Chris watching. "It'll be better for you if you don't see. And no peeking, or I'll get the blindfold out."

JC has a _thing_ for Chris closing his eyes, and much as he hates to admit it, it does make the experience…more. He has to rely on things like sound and touch, and like now, when he's cut off from the world that way, everything feels bigger, stronger, more intense.

Chris lies quietly, breathing in slow and steady. Once upon a time he would've still been fidgeting, unable to relax and enjoy the ripples of pleasure still moving through him, or the hum of sensation that danced on the edge of pain prickling him. Now he can roll with it, can let the arousal surging through him lap at his nerve-endings and spiral around wildly.

Off to the side is a quiet *snick*, and the heavier scent of smoke threads through the sex and sweat-scent filling the air. JC's quiet save for a soft humming under his breath; Chris huffs out a laugh when he realizes it's _Space Cowboy_.

"You're so twisted, dude," he says finally, when JC's reached the chorus and Chris feels his hips trying to move in time with the memories the song stirs up.

"I'm not the one trying to dance to it," JC counters. The mattress dips when he sits beside Chris, and then JC's kissing him, mouth hot and wet and tasting of honey. 

Chris curls his fingers into his palms, wanting so badly to reach up and pull JC closer, to deepen the kiss and drink JC down. He whimpers into JC's mouth, wanting wanting _wanting_ , the calm he'd felt a few minutes ago giving way to a tidal surge of need and hunger.

"You hurt so pretty," JC says softly, and then there's a sting. A quick, there-and-gone pinprick of sensation; heat crawling over him and vanishing. "Hurt for me, Chris." 

Another quick bite of heat, and another, and they get longer and slower, drawn out across Chris's chest. Slices of thick, liquid heat pouring over him, sizzling down into him.

Candles. Hot wax. Chris wonders vaguely if it's white or red, hissing when heat blossoms around his right nipple. A streak across his chest joins right to left.

"How's it feel? Does it hurt?" JC's voice shifts away and Chris is tempted to look, to open his eyes and _see_ , but he doesn't give in to the temptation.

"A little," he says, flexing against his bonds. The plug inside him shifts and he makes a low, rough noise as pleasure streaks through him, whitehot, a flash that's gone as quickly as it registers. "God--"

JC laughs and jiggles the base of the plug; at the same time heat slides over his nipple, slow and thick like hot honey. Chris groans and arches toward it, body shaking with need when JC does it again and again, coating both his nipples until they're sealed in fire.

He gives up trying to hold in the groans and spasms as JC works him over, streaks of fire criss-crossing his body. Wiggles of wax cover his inner thighs, low on his belly, down his sides. Everywhere the skin is tender, unused to extreme touches. Each one burns until Chris feels like his skin is searing off his bones, sensation wrapping him up and holding him in. He pulls it into himself, rides the waves before letting them crest higher and higher.

Orgasm takes him by surprise, striking hot and swift and pulsing through him. He jerks his hips helplessly, body spasming repeatedly.

Chris hasn't recovered from the first orgasm when JC twists the plug inside him, setting him off again. Light flashes behind his eyelids, lines of white and black and red. The plug turns again, pulls out, stretching Chris with the wide, wide base. He groans when JC shoves it back inside him again, body jerking in time with the pulses of pleasure firing through him.

"So beautiful like this," JC says -- though the words sound distant, far away. "C'mon, hurt for me, Chris."

The only warning Chris gets is JC's finger rubbing over the swollen, wet head of his dick. In his mind's eye he sees him, watches JC tip the candle. Watches the wax fall droplet by droplet onto the tender, so-sensitive skin of his cock.

There's pain, and then there's _pain_ , and what tears through him now steals Chris's breath away, pulls his body taut as he arches into it. Fiery, ripping down into his flesh with claws, it breaks him open and seals him back up inside a cocoon of nothing and everything.

Everything whites out around him and Chris welcomes it, welcomes that blankness. He feels the pleasure -- steel sharp and raw -- move through him; feels JC's hand stroking him roughly, pulling orgasm after orgasm out of him until all Chris knows is pleasure that loops into pain and back into pleasure, until he can't hold on to either and has to let them take him where they will.

He comes back to himself -- minutes? hours? -- to find JC curled up against him, gently stroking his chest, his arms and his belly, murmuring soft words.

"C'mon, Chris, c'mon back man." More caresses, fingers gliding over the sore spots where the wax burned into him. "Open your eyes for me. C'mon."  
It's hard. It's the hardest thing, to obey that. Chris likes where he's at; it's safe and warm and comfortable. But -- 

"C'mon, baby. Open your eyes. Now, Chris."

He can't refuse that tone; can't refuse an order. Doesn't want to, anyway. Chris breathes in deeply; when he opens his eyes everything is speckled and fuzzy and it isn't until JC wipes his thumb over Chris's eyelids that he realizes he was either crying, or sweating a whole lot.

He'll go with sweating. Less embarrassing.

"Better?" JC's so close, his eyes huge and blue and staring right into Chris's. "Need anything?"

"Something--" His mouth tastes like ass. Or worse, really, because ass doesn't taste that bad, all things considered. Chris licks his lips and grimaces; his whole mouth is dry. "Something to drink. Please."

JC helps him lean up enough to drink some of the bottle of water set to his lips and hands him a couple of Tylenol. After swallowing dutifully, Chris lies back, content to let JC curl around him, still petting him gently.

"And yeah, I'm. It's better." He yawns, big and wide, and feels JC's chuff of laughter against his skin. "Thanks."

"Mmm." JC brushes a kiss over Chris's nipple and smiles when he sucks in a breath. "It's a hardship, but somebody's gotta do it."

Chris smiles, halfway to sleep, but worms a hand down in between their bodies to JC's erection, pressed against Chris's thigh. "Somebody should do this," he says, squeezing gently. 

JC shivers, head-to-toe, and reaches for Chris's hand. "Somebody can, tomorrow. Get some sleep."

"I don't need--"

" _Sleep_ , Chris." JC presses a kiss to Chris's mouth, there-and-gone pressure.

"Bossy bitch." It's hard to keep his eyes open, though, now the adrenaline's worn off.

JC's laughter follows him down into his dreams.

~fin~


End file.
